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<title>it's what's engraved upon my heart (in letters deeply worn) by margosfairyeye (Skittery)</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23625670">it's what's engraved upon my heart (in letters deeply worn)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skittery/pseuds/margosfairyeye'>margosfairyeye (Skittery)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-It, Love Letters, M/M, Misunderstandings, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Roach is the goodest girl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:01:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,364</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23625670</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skittery/pseuds/margosfairyeye</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>How could he leave?  How could he leave?  After everything Geralt gave him?  After giving him everything he ever wanted?  After giving up his own solitude, and time, and freedom just to accommodate Jaskier? All of that, all of that time, and energy, and it only took a few words of frustration to chase him away? </p>
<p>Geralt scowls at nothing.  He thought Jaskier was different, but he’d turned out just the same as everyone else.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>777</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>it's what's engraved upon my heart (in letters deeply worn)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>thank you to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/zade">zade</a> for being the best beta</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jaskier leaves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt doesn’t see it coming.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rages, and Roach gives him a reproachful look as he storms down the path towards her.  It doesn’t help. </span>
</p>
<p><span>How could he leave?  How could </span><em><span>he</span></em> <em><span>leave</span></em><span>?  After everything Geralt gave him?  After giving him </span><em><span>everything</span></em><span> he ever wanted?  After giving up his own solitude, and time, and freedom just to accommodate </span><em><span>Jaskier</span></em><span>? All of that, all of that </span><em><span>time</span></em><span>, and energy, and it only took a few words of frustration to chase him away? </span></p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt scowls at nothing.  He thought Jaskier was different, but he’d turned out just the same as everyone else.  Sure, Geralt had yelled, he’d been a complete ass, but it shouldn’t have been enough to make a difference, he hadn’t thought it would really change anything.  He’d thought... It didn’t matter. What matters is that Jaskier is gone, and he’s alone. Again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Godsdamnit!” Geralt yells to no one, and Roach paws at the ground, giving him that look that says not only does she know exactly what’s happening, but she knows he’s being an ass about it.  Geralt softens and walks over to her, stroking her side apologetically. “Fucked it all up, didn’t I, Roach? Never should have given a fuck. You’re the only one who doesn’t disappoint me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roach presses her head against his, and it’s a little better then.  Or at least it calms the storm raging inside his head.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt packs her bags back up, and is checking the straps of her saddle when he finds it—a small piece of paper rolled up with a ribbon tied around it.  Geralt knows instantly who it’s from, can smell Jaskier on it as soon as he pulls it off of Roach’s saddle.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can smell Jaskier on it.  That in itself is enough to make his chest hurt.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a short letter, more of a note really, written less carefully than Geralt knows Jaskier is capable of, but still in a flowing, legible script.  Geralt reads it quickly, then again more slowly.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s mostly nonsense, flowery and dramatic.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry I wasn’t enough, I’m sorry I was too much—</span>
  </em>
  <span>too overwrought to sound sincere. </span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>Except for the end, which says simply: </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s you, it’s always been you.  with love, Jaskier</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt stares at the paper.  It feels unfair, to have that now, to have those words thrown at him as a parting blow, instead of spoken full-voiced where Geralt could hear it, where everyone could hear it.  And even as he thinks that, Geralt knows what he’d have done, if Jaskier had tried that.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knows he’d have brushed it off, probably cruelly.  And they’d be just where they are.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Except even then, he never would have seen it coming.  He’d have expected Jaskier to stay, because that’s just </span>
  <em>
    <span>what Jaskier did</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  He stayed.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not anymore,” Geralt says aloud, and Roach snorts in agreement.  He runs his fingers through her mane. Roach will never leave him, she knows he can only love her in the way he can.  Why are humans so much more troublesome? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt would never admit that he waits a little, takes his time finishing their preparations for leaving, just in case Jaskier came back to see if Geralt got the letter, to ask for an apology and go back to normal.  It’s a long shot; Jaskier has his pride the same as anyone else, but the finality of it all pulls at Geralt’s limbs, keeps him from leaving until it becomes ridiculous to stay.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck him, let’s go,” he says bitterly, climbing into Roach's saddle and setting off for…somewhere.  He thinks about dropping the letter in the dirt, about tearing it to shreds, about tying the ribbon around it again and leaving it callously for someone else to find. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can’t, or he doesn’t really want to.  He crumples it up into a ball instead, tucking it into one of Roach’s bags.  Fuck him, anyway. Geralt’s been alone for most of his life, he doesn’t need anyone anyway.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Isn’t that right?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>— — </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The days bleed together.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt gets a contract, he gets another one.  He doesn’t die, he never earns as much as he should.  He arrives in towns and he leaves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hears Jaskier everywhere.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His songs, of course—played in every tavern (though Geralt finds the musicians lacking), hummed on the streets, whispering in the wind as it rustles through trees.  Geralt hears laughter coming up the stairs in an inn and his heartbeat stutters, it sounds so much like Jaskier’s. He turns to talk to no one on the road, Jaskier’s voice echoing in his head, annoying and constant and comforting and </span>
  <em>
    <span>there</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  He rolls over in his sleep, thinking to tell Jaskier off for being noisy, only to find himself alone with the ashes of a fire.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s infuriating.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s wrong with me?” he asks Roach, who huffs and doesn’t answer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He goes looking.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not seriously, not actively searching or tracking, just…keeping an eye out.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt asks innkeepers if they’ve seen him, when he happens to be in enough coin to pay for an inn, but no one has.  He stumbles into brothels and nearly gets kicked out for asking too many questions when he thinks to ask if they might’ve seen Jaskier.  Months pass, and no one’s seen him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt reads and rereads the letter.  He carefully smooths out the creases, letting his fingers linger on certain words.  He reads it and tells himself to throw it away this time, to just get rid of it, why the fuck is he holding onto a </span>
  <em>
    <span>love letter </span>
  </em>
  <span>like a pining human imbecile? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He crumples it back up.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He throws it in a trash pile, and comes back moments later to retrieve it.  He keeps it in Roach’s pack, in his pocket, pressed against his breast beneath his armor.  He wants to get rid of it, the fucking stupid thing, but he can’t. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Months pass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stops in a town whose name he doesn’t know, and hears a new song that </span>
  <em>
    <span>sounds </span>
  </em>
  <span>like Jaskier, like something he’s written, something Geralt had never heard before.  His heart thumps in his chest, artificially slow; if he’d been human it would have skittered like a rabbit.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The performer gives him the name of a town—somewhere near the sea, he says.  He has dark hair and dim eyes, but he laughs like Jaskier used to, and he isn’t scared of Geralt.  Geralt considers tempting the random bard into…something, but he scampers off with someone more appropriate.  All for the best, really. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That night Geralt allows himself to think of Jaskier when he presses his cock into his hand and strokes himself, coming breathlessly with Jaskier’s name on his lips.  It’s the first time in a long time he hasn’t had to stifle the word. It feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt hates himself and Jaskier in equal measure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt almost doesn’t go.  He almost stays as far from the water, from the godsdamn </span>
  <em>
    <span>coast</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as he can.  He thinks maybe he’ll stay inland and forget about Jaskier and just live out his own life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s lying to himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s almost too easy.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everyone knows Jaskier, that’s how it’s always been, but before it had mostly been an irritation.  Now it’s breadcrumbs, clues that lead startling quickly to a town where people know exactly where Jaskier is, where he’s staying, who he’s seeing.  Geralt grasps at bits of information like he’s starving.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier’s staying at a house, one he’s let from some rich friend of his.  It’s pressed up against the rocky shoreline, just outside the limits of this very town.  Geralt can be there in minutes.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wastes time.  He takes things to be repaired, he drinks a pint of terrible ale, he sniffs out the town’s notice board.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rereads the letter.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s almost illegible, streaks of dirt and oil from his fingertips smudging the words.  It doesn’t matter, though—Geralt has it memorized by now. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s you, it’s always been you. with love.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  He crumples it back up, at this point nothing more than habit, and tucks it securely into a bag. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s almost too easy.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s early evening when he finds the house—small, quaint even, much too understated.  And outside it, sitting on a rock, close to the water, he finds Jaskier, lute in hand.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt sneaks up, half expecting to be shooed away the moment he’s seen.  He would certainly deserve it. He walks with quiet footsteps, holding his breath.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier doesn’t turn until he’s almost upon him.  He looks the same. Geralt nearly falls to his knees, wants to beg for forgiveness.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>I read the letter</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he wants to say, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I read it so many times.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier turns, and looks at him with eyes bright as they always were, seeking Geralt’s eyes, unafraid.  It’s like no time has passed. It’s like it’s been years. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jaskier,” Geralt breathes.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier says nothing.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been looking for you, I wanted to find you, I wanted—”  Geralt hadn’t thought this part through. He’d expected a loud greeting, either ecstatic or furious; he’d expected Jaskier to yell, or hit him, or storm off, or open his arms.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Something</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, congratulations, you’ve found me,” Jaskier says slowly, “now you can go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, that’s not—”  It’s not what he meant.  He meant something else, something more like </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like </span>
  <em>
    <span>with love</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  Geralt has absolutely no idea how to say it.  “What if I want to stay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier looks at him, and his eyes </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> different, their gaze is sharper, more cutting.  He’s more careful, less trusting. It makes Geralt miserable to know it’s his fault.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t stop you, I suppose,” Jaskier says, turning away, “but I can’t imagine why you’re here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt doesn’t know what to say.  Uncertainty isn’t the most familiar emotion, but it courses through him.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t want you to leave,” he says, “not really.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier scoffs.  “Not really,” he repeats.  It sounds cruel in his mouth.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt doesn’t know what to say.  He sits down on the rock beside Jaskier, staring silent between the sea and the bard.  Jaskier fingers his lute, and Geralt closes his eyes, letting the sound of it wash over him.  He thought he didn’t miss that.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s been lying to himself.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a while, Jaskier stands up and goes into the house, and comes back with two cups of wine.  He shoves one unceremoniously at Geralt, eyeing him carefully.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It would be rude not to…” Jaskier doesn’t finish the sentence, but sits back down on the rock next to him.  They drink the wine in silence.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The moon hangs over them, too large.  It feels like the brink of something, but Geralt can’t tell if Jaskier can feel it, too.  He reaches out to touch Jaskier’s shoulder, just a friendly caress, and Jaskier shudders, flinching away from his hand.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on,” he says, standing.  “I have an extra room.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt follows him into the house.  It’s small, but warm. There isn’t an extra room so much as a closet with a cot in it.  Geralt accepts it gladly.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier doesn’t stay, doesn’t sit on the edge of the cot and speak quietly, doesn’t take Geralt’s hand in his.  Geralt isn’t surprised, but he’s surprised by how much he wants those things. He wants to protest to the closed door—</span>
  <em>
    <span>but the things you said in the letter</span>
  </em>
  <span>!  But maybe Jaskier doesn’t remember the letter, maybe it was all a moment’s passion and done.  Maybe Geralt’s been working himself up to a fall.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sleeps uneasily. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he wakes, it’s to Jaskier opening the little door.  He’s dressed in what passes for casual where Jaskier’s concerned—still colorful and decorative, but less formal, more comfortable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re still here,” Jaskier says, unemotional.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt nods and Jaskier shrugs.  It’s better than being told to leave.  Geralt follows Jaskier into the main room of the house, and lets himself be fed.  Jaskier watches him curiously, not quite as detached as Geralt thinks he wants to appear, but not engaged either.  It’s like he’s not certain if Geralt is actually there, or just a phantom.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt knows the feeling.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have things to do,” Jaskier says slowly.  “Will you be leaving?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt is ready for the question.  “Not today.” He doesn’t mention that he’s been actively looking for how to get here, he doesn’t mention the letter.  There’s a moment where he feels like he </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> maybe mention both of those things, since just being here is admittedly very uncharacteristic of him.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The moment passes.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt follows Jaskier as he goes about his day.  He follows him to a market, he follows him walking along the craggy seaside, listening quietly while Jaskier composes, he follows him later to a local tavern to perform.  Jaskier brightens, there, becomes the same brilliant performer he’s always been. He needles the crowd with jokes and charms them with stories and gets rousing applause and drinks pressed to him when he’s done.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt hangs back, off to the side, keeping himself away from the attention of everyone else.  He watches Jaskier in this setting, where he seems more relaxed, where there aren’t monsters banging down his door, and Geralt wonders if he ought to just leave.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Except. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Except that there are moments, fleeting and quiet, where Jaskier looks at him.  Just to make sure he’s still there, trailing him, just to make sure he hasn’t disappeared.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So Geralt doesn’t disappear.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sleeps in the tiny room and does whatever Jaskier is doing, and when his hands start to itch from lack of use, he leaves for the day, taking Roach and letting her run until they find a monster to kill, sometimes for coin and sometimes not.  Geralt fights until he’s tired and bloody and sated, and then he turns them back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt always leaves Jaskier a note.  And he always comes back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every time, Jaskier seems surprised to see him.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s been more than two weeks when Jaskier asks him directly, again.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are you here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt stops himself from shrugging.  “Because I want to be.” He’s just returned from fighting a wraith, and it’s the middle of the night turning into early morning, and Jaskier was apparently sitting up waiting for him, which is…different.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did you know where to find me?”  Jaskier presses. He pours them both wine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How do you know I came here looking for you?” Geralt asks automatically.  It sounds foolish to both of their ears. “I asked around.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier considers him.  Geralt’s been feeling like he’s under scrutiny a lot, of late.  He knows it would end if he just admitted to Jaskier that he missed him, that he still misses him, even if they’re in the same place again.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought you’d be glad to be rid of me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt winces.  He absolutely deserves that, but it still hurts to hear it thrown back at him.  He wishes Jaskier would learn not to listen to the stupid things Geralt says. “I wasn't glad.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s as close to a confession as he can manage.  He knows it’s not going to be enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is Roach awake?” Jaskier asks suddenly, standing up and walking towards the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt lets him leave.  He feels tired, all of a sudden.  He’s been carrying the stupid crumpled letter on him, again, hoping that will force him to bring it up.  Instead, he’s just added various monster insides to the list of substances staining the paper. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulls the letter out and rereads it.  Waiting for Jaskier to return becomes tedious, and Geralt tries to swallow his misgivings about this whole thing as he presses his fingers against the written words.  At least he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he’s here with Jaskier, and he hasn’t been directly asked to leave yet, even if he suspects Jaskier wants him to leave. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt’s eyes droop, and he sets the letter down on his knee, crumpled up into its usual ball again.  He’s tired from the fight, from exertion, and he doesn’t notice when he falls asleep. He doesn’t notice when the sun comes up and Jaskier slips back into the house.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t notice when the letter tumbles off his lap onto the floor.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>— — </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt wakes up alone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It hasn’t even been that long, and he’s already gotten used to seeing Jaskier’s face first thing in the morning again.  He’s stiff from sleeping in the chair, although it’s far from the worst place he’s slept. Geralt walks around the little house, looking for signs of Jaskier. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He finally finds Jaskier sitting outside on the rock, same as when he’d first arrived.  He looks like he has just wandered out of bed, wearing just a shirt and trousers. Geralt’s first instinct is to make a crack about it, to engage by teasing him about being out in a state of undress.  He swallows it down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jaskier?”  Geralt approaches slowly, uncertain if he’s allowed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier looks up at him in accusation.  He’s got something in his hands, creases and smudges on yellowed paper.  Geralt feels his voice catch in his throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was wondering,” Jaskier says flatly, “if you’d seen this.  Or rather, I did wonder, at first.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s an unspoken question.  Geralt thinks it would all be a lot easier if Jaskier would just quietly allow his presence, the way he’d come to silently accept Jaskier’s before.  Although, maybe that wouldn’t really be better at all, having led them here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I saw it.”  It’s a ridiculous understatement, but the truth, of how often he’d held and touched the words, feels big and unwieldy.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t believe you </span>
  <em>
    <span>kept it</span>
  </em>
  <span> like </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”  Geralt is smart enough to hear the emphasis.  It does look like he barely took care of it; he tries to gather his words.  “Why are you here, Geralt?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt takes a breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I kept it,” Geralt says, trying to keep himself calm.  He had </span>
  <em>
    <span>kept it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, this stupid fucking symbolic piece of paper, and he won’t let Jaskier diminish that.  He can’t. “I’m here because I kept that damn letter! Yes, I tried to get rid of it at first, and I crumpled it up, but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>kept it.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jaskier, don’t you understand?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt’s voice has risen in frustration, with feeling.  Jaskier looks like he isn’t breathing.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s you, it’s always been you,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Geralt parrots quietly</span>
  <em>
    <span>.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jaskier’s eyes widen slightly.  “I’m here because I was wrong, because I need you.  Because I’d rather be here with you then out there alone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He feels better, after saying it.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He feels worse, waiting for Jaskier to reply. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You read it,” Jaskier finally says.  There’s an edge of wonder to his voice that makes Geralt annoyed, except that it makes him want to hold Jaskier even more.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you understand?  That I don’t—that I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>just go back to how it was before?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt nods.  “Yes, I—I can’t either.”  He hesitates, even though Jaskier is holding the letter, even though he can clearly see that the most worn away part is the very end, where it says </span>
  <em>
    <span>with love, Jaskier.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Even though he can see Geralt standing here, waiting for him to speak in the least exciting town on the entire coast; waiting for him instead of going back to his own life.  Geralt waits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier suddenly leaps up from the rocks, pressing himself to Geralt and kissing him, deep and slow and sweet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt doesn’t see it coming. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grasps Jaskier, pulling him in closer.  Geralt feels like he’s finally got the answer to a question he’s been asking for months.  Kissing Jaskier lifts a weight he wasn’t even aware of carrying.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, Jaskier pulls back reluctantly, and his eyes look brighter, more trusting.  Geralt wants to deserve his trust. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why did you tell me to leave?”  Jaskier asks quietly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt runs his hands along Jaskier’s sides, and Jaskier lets him—suddenly he’s allowed to hold him, and it sparks something warm and protective in Geralt that’s usually dormant.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t think you really would,” Geralt answers truthfully.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier nods, presses his head against Geralt’s shoulder.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t do it again,” Jaskier says against his neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I won’t, I promise,” Geralt says, and kisses Jaskier again, because he can. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i'm on <a href="margosfairyeye.tumblr.com">tumblr</a> if you want to talk to me!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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